


Give Me Danger, Little Stranger

by Pluppelina



Series: I Need Some Fine Wine And You Need To Be Nicer [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Day 1 in the series canon, First Meeting, M/M, Seb shoots to kill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pluppelina/pseuds/Pluppelina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jim needs a hand and Sebastian is desperate to escape his every day civilian life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me Danger, Little Stranger

The story of how they meet is such a cliche that later Sebastian will never tell anyone. Right now he isn’t aware that what’s happening is going to be one of the most embarrassing things in his whole life; he’s just grateful for the scotch that’s placed on his table even though he didn’t order it.

“From the gentleman over there,” says the waiter, and Sebastian looks up to find a small man in a good quality suit looking at him. Sebastian wonders if he’s being flirted with and decides that hey, if it keeps the whiskey coming. He can take that little wuss in a fight no matter his intoxication level. 

The waiter leaves and when Sebastian is about halfway through his drink, a voice from behind him almost makes him jump - but only almost.

“Ex-colonel Sebastian Moran,” someone says grandly. “Are the stories true?”

Sebastian is surprised, both that the stranger managed to sneak up on him from behind and that he knows his name, but he hides it as well as he’s able to, more or less out of habit. Confidence can, in certain situations, be the difference between life and death. 

“That depends on what stories you’ve heard,” he says instead, half playing along and half trying to find out in just how much shit he is, because this can’t possibly be anything but shit.

“Well...” the man says as he sits down on the chair next to Sebastian’s, facing him. “To be honest, the only thing I haven’t already confirmed myself is the size of that tiger’s balls.”

“Like apples,” Sebastian says as looks the other man up and down. Expensive suit, expensive shoes, expensive watch. Dark hair and darker eyes. A face that means business. Sebastian could still take him in a fight.

“Did you eat them?” the man says then and Sebastian can’t tell if he’s serious, but there’s a little flash of a grin and it looks like a cat’s grin, something sly and slow and lazy, the smile on the face of someone playing with his prey. Sebastian, thinking that he’s no longer in shit so much as in deep shit, decides that answering that question isn’t a very good idea.

“What do you want?” he says instead, jaw squared. He wonders what makes this one little man think that he has any power whatsoever over someone like Sebastian.

“Mmh, clever...” comes the reply. “I knew you would be. You see, I’ve got a job I think you might be interested in. Given your set of special skills and interests, not to mention the pay... It’s a job you’re going to accept.”

Sebastian is almost afraid to ask, but he has to anyway; “Why?”

“Because Jim Moriarty says so.”

Now, Sebastian has spent enough time in the London underworld to know all he has to know about Moriarty - namely that Moriarty is someone you only speak of in very hushed tones, that you look up to with equal parts of admiration and fear, and that he is the criminal version of King of England. One does not say no to Moriarty. These things aren’t so much in themselves the reason Sebastian says yes. The reason that Sebastian says yes is that he’s feeling drunk and reckless, that he’s been back in England for less than a year and already been thrown out by his wife, noticed that every friend he ever had now lives across an abyss as deep as the 17 men he’s killed and that civilian life will never be for him again. It really can’t get any worse. On the other hand, there is always the chance it’ll get better. Therefore, he slowly nods.

“What’s the job?”

“When I say jump,” says the man who can’t possibly be anyone but Jim Moriarty himself, “your job is to already know from which building, at what time, and with which audience. Your job is to make sure that when you land, you land right-side up and in exactly the condition I want you to be. Your job is also to make sure that while you’re out pulling your little strings, no harm comes to me in any way. Are we clear?”

Sebastian nods. It sounds clear enough. Mind-reader, coordinator, bodyguard. Possibly fall guy. He can do those things.

Jim puts his elbow on the table then, hand held out towards Sebastian.

“Test one,” he says. “Arm wrestle with me.”

Sebastian puts his own arm in the desired position and grips Jim’s smaller, colder hand. If this is a test, it’s hardly a test of his physical strength; it’s incredibly obvious that Sebastian is the stronger of the two men. So, what is this really a test of? What does Jim want from him, here? 

Jim counts down from three and Sebastian is still thinking, still not sure what to do, so for a moment after Jim has begun he just keeps them upright, gradually adding pressure as Jim does to keep the status quo existing. He realizes he can’t keep that up forever, though, and Jim’s face is so bored suddenly, bored can hardly be good, and so Sebastian goes with his guts and simply stops struggling. His hand hits the table.

“Again,” Jim says and Sebastian feels relieved - if what he had done was the wrong move, he’d hardly have been allowed another try. Sebastian proceeds to lose another four times, completely poker-faced. It seems to please Jim, who, in the end, barely uses any force at all to move Sebastian’s hand down.

“Good,” he smiles. It's the craziest smile Sebastian has ever seen. “On to test two.”

*

They are in a building across the street overlooking a room full of important men. Sebastian is given a rifle, one that fits his body well and feels good against his cheek. It’s lighter than any firearm he’s used before, and something tells him it doesn’t work quite like the others, either. He didn’t load it himself.

“Do you see that man there, with the cornflower blue tie?” Jim whispers in his ear. Sebastian nods slowly.

“The fat bastard?”

Jim laughs delightedly, a sign that he’s correct. “Shoot him.” 

Sebastian looks down the scope at the crowd. He’s a little tipsy, can feel it pounding away in his head, but could still make the shot. Technically, he could even do it without hurting anyone else in the room. But that’s theoretically.

In practice, he doesn’t know who the man is, or why he needs to die, or even if he actually does, but then again, that IS the way wars are run. People die. Sometimes it’s right and sometimes it’s not. Sometimes you have the info and sometimes you don’t. Sometimes it’s a kill-or-be-killed situation, and sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes, pulling the trigger gains you something, and Sebastian, always the soldier, doesn’t even consider asking questions because he already knows all he needs to know. His would-be superior has ordered him to kill a man and if he does, something he wants will be his.

So Sebastian pulls the trigger, puts a bullet right in the heart of the man and watches him fall. Jim is still laughing. 


End file.
